Page 62 of Misadventures with a Duke

But fine works too. It’s workable. Predictable. A stable safety net, giving me freedom to get back to work and create for my clients. The work I love, despite the insecurity that’s been a tiny roadblock lately. But just a small one. It’ll pass…

So why haven’t you taken the pill yet?

Why are you letting the minutes race by, closing the window on when that medicine is going to be effective?

Why are you so determined to watch that bridge burn?

I step back, needing a second to regroup here. Maybe more than one. More like a thousand.

After I scoop up at least sixty, letting a minute pass, Bastien speaks again.

“It is true. She was in my arms when she went to the angels—with her own brother’s dagger buried in her chest. A dagger he meant to plunge into me.”

And there go all the rest of my seconds.

Along with all my air.

The breaths that his words snatch from the space beneath my scar.

I curl a hand into that space, as if that’s enough to calm the agonized pulses against the jagged line of marred skin. The ragged heartbeats that I still have but Magique does not.

Magique. The woman he truly loves. I am so sure of it, even now. Especially now. The grief in his words as he speaks. The agony that creases the corners of his eyes and compresses his mouth. And consumes his broken heart…

I know it because mine cracks too. Not in the way of sympathy or empathy. In the way of feeling this stuff, like I did last month when things fell apart with Justin.

Only a billion times worse.

It’s searing and shattering. I feel like I’m bursting, in none of the good ways. I can’t breathe and sure as hell can’t see. I grab the back of a chair, intending to plummet into it, but I stumble until falling against Bastien again. Nearly onto him.

Yearning to crawl inside of him.

But I can’t do that either. Never again, no matter how right it feels to think about it.

So what now?

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

I’m so desperate about it, the words tumble from me aloud.

“Je ne sais pas. Je ne sais pas.”

And the room is careening harder.

My senses are screaming louder.

I shove at Bastien’s chest. As I stumble back, I tear at my head with both hands. It’s not enough. The action confirms that my skull is still intact, but my mind isn’t.

What’s happening? What the hell is happ—

“Raegan?” Bastien isn’t helping either. His gentle tone and brushed bronze gaze are like silk sheets after I’ve only slept two hours. I long to melt back into him. But…no. No! “Ma magnifique. It is all right. I do not know either. Perhaps we can fathom it through together?”

The question is a luxurious comforter on top of the sheets. But I shake my head, forcing myself to resist. Needing to. “Je ne sais pas.” Especially when nothing but that spills out. “Je suis désolée, Bastien!” And then that.

I have to get out of here. And then I have to run.

But where?